"01 - Wizard's Bane (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Rick)

"Which way?" Wiz panted.
Moira cast about indecisively. "Ahh," she breathed at last. "They throng to the south and east of us. To the west and north are areas rich in magic."
"So we go west and north?" Wiz suggested.
Moira shook her head. "To enter a powerful area with the hunt so close upon us would be our doom. With magic all about us we would stand out like ants on a griddle."
"Lay low?"
Moira didn't answer. Which was answer enough.
"Can't you use magic to get us out of this?"
Moira snorted. "If I used magic they would sniff us out at once. We avoid them only because they cannot sense magic upon us."
A weird, warbling howl pierced the night, chilling Wiz's blood. Across the stream, a huge wolf-like shape loomed on the ridge, outlined by the rising moon. Even in the moonlight its eyes burned red. It was the epitome of all the wolf nightmares of Wiz's childhood.
"Dire Beast," Moira breathed. She squeezed Wiz's hand even tighter and they crept away, clinging to the shadow and thickets. Behind them the wolf creature howled again but made no move to follow.
Once away from the stream bank they ran. They scrambled up another ridge and half-ran half-slid into a valley. The woods were thicker and darker, but that was no comfort. Still the sounds of their hunters rang and the trees seemed to close in about them to the point of suffocation.
There were brambles to catch at clothing and rip flesh. Once Wiz took a thorny branch full in the face and once they had to stop to disentangle Moira's cloak from a barbed bush. As they worked the fabric off the grasping thorns Wiz saw that Moira's hands had been cruelly lacerated by pushing through the spindly growth.
Finally, exhausted, Moira led Wiz into a thicket. There was a hollow in the center as if once long ago a tree had been uprooted there. Together they cowered and panted in the little crater beneath the bushes and listened to the sounds of pursuit echoing through the forest.
Dared they stay here? Wiz wanted to ask but he was afraid to make a sound. Besides, he didn't think he would like the answer. Unbidden, Moira's words on the first day came back to him. If you have a choice between the worst death you can imagine and falling into the hands of the League, do everything in your power to die. Had they really come to that? he thought, looking over at Moira.
Suddenly something hissed in Wiz's ear like a disturbed snake. Wiz jumped.
"Hsst," came the sound again. "Hsst, Lady, over here." He turned and stared but saw nothing. Then part of the bush seemed to twist and coalesce and a tiny man stood beckoning to them where a second before there had been only moonlight and branches. He was clad in a pointed cap, tunic and breeks with pointed shoes. Wiz could not tell the color in the dim light.
"Come this way. Quickly." The little being turned and skipped through the undergrowth. Moira started to follow but Wiz caught her arm. "Trap?" he panted.
Moira scowled and shook off his hand. She hurried after the little man, who was dancing with impatience.
Wiz was half-blown when they started, but he pushed ahead gamely. The trail led through glades and over ridges until at last they arrived at the base of a hill. As their guide approached, a rock rolled away and pale golden light flooded out into the dark.
"Enter and be welcome," said a melodious male voice from within.
Again Moira started forward and again Wiz caught her arm.
"Didn't you tell me to avoid places like this?"
"Would you rather the trolls and Dire Beasts?" she snapped. Wiz nodded and followed her into the hill.
"May there be peace upon you. May you leave the woes of the World behind," the voice said, as if reciting a formula.
"May there be confusion to our enemies and may we return to the world we know," Moira said firmly into the air.
"May it be so," responded the voice and their host seemed to step out of the wall of the tunnel to them.
He was tall, graceful and silver-haired. His eyes were so blue as to be almost purple and his skin was the color of milk. Wiz could see the blue veins underneath.
He wore a long tunic of scarlet, intricately worked, and a collar of beaten gold. His belt was dark leather decorated with bronze the length around.
"My Lady," he bowed to Moira. "My Lord," he nodded to Wiz.
"My Lord." Moira dropped a deep curtsey.
"My Lord," Repeated Wiz and made a clumsy bow. He barely noticed that the rock had slid silently back across the entrance, sealing them within.
Their host regarded them serenely. "I am called Aelric. I am duke of this place and I bid you welcome here."
"We thank you for your hospitality, Lord," Moira said. "I am called Moira and this one is called Sparrow."
Duke Aelric looked narrowly at Wiz. "Ahhh," he said simply, but with a world of meaning.
"You have heard of us then, Lord?"
"A mite." The elf duke made a languid gesture. "But there will be time for talk later. I hope you will do me the pleasure of dining with me this evening."
"We would be honored, Lord," Moira said.
"Let it be so then." Duke Aelric snapped his fingers and their guide capered out and bowed low to his master.
"Most dread Lord, most gracious Lady, if you will deign to follow me?" The little creature turned and moved down the tunnel. Duke Aelric touched his fingertips to his forehead and faded back into the rock. Wiz gaped until Moira jabbed him with her elbow. Then he followed her and their guide down the corridor.
Wiz's shoes squeaked on tessellated marble floors inlaid in fantastic patterns. Over his head columns of scarlet and gold soared upward until lost in the gloom. Here and there an elaborately carved lantern cast a gentle yellow glow through its alabaster panes, making the light more mellow rather than brighter. Occasionally the glint of gold added accent and unostentatious richness to their surroundings.
They passed down stately corridors, through tapestry-hung halls and up sweeping curving staircases, yet they saw no one. Not even a faint, distant footstep or the furtive motion of a curtain dropping into place showed that there was anyone in the huge underground palace but themselves and their tiny guide.
At last they came to a massive door, twice their height and finely carved. The elf placed his hand on the intricately worked handle and pushed gently.
The door swung open to reveal a spacious, richly appointed room. It was more brightly lit than the rest of the palace and the carved and gilded lanterns along the walls cast a warm light on the furnishings of pale brown wood and heavy silken hangings the color of chrysoberyl. The ceiling was painted the blue of a summer sky and spangled with glittering golden stars. Lines of silver traced out the shape of unfamiliar constellations. The air was heavy with the scent of roses and lilies.
"My master bids you be comfortable," the elven major-domo squeaked. "There will be time to rest and bathe before dinner. My Lady's chamber is to the right," he swept a bow in that direction, "and my Lord's is to the left. Peace and repose be unto you." With that he bowed out.
"Wow," said Wiz as he looked around at the splendor. "This is really something."
"Elves contrive to live well," Moira said, laying her cloak onto an elegantly proportioned table and sinking down onto a silken cushion of the palest blue in the chair next to it.
"All right!" Wiz said and dropped onto a couch nearby.
Moira removed the ribbon from her hair and shook out her flaming locks. Wiz watched, enthralled.
"It was brave of you to save me from the trolls," she told him. "You gave me my life at the risk of yours and I thank you for it."
The words were sweet, but her tone was used to thank a stranger for a service. Moira was sincere and grateful, but that was all. She had been warmer to the man from the village, Wiz thought.